


Time's but a concept

by Bluestpaw



Series: Holmesbury Oneshots [3]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff without Plot, Sneaking In, Sneaking Out, This story doesn't deserve to be this long, Too early, Waking up early, and, involuntarily too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestpaw/pseuds/Bluestpaw
Summary: Sneaking into someone’s room at night - of the opposite sex nonetheless and for covert reason, too - was highly frowned upon in Victorian society.Enola knew this. And so did Tewkesbury.It didn't stop her though.“It’s 5am Enola,what do you want?!”
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury, Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Series: Holmesbury Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167005
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Time's but a concept

**Author's Note:**

> This story is way longer than it deserves to be and also most definitely crack – I had the idea yesterday at 1am when I was playing Pokémon Go (in bed) instead of sleeping. I’d say it’s a fuzzy strawberry lemonade (the one you make yourself by adding syrup to a glass of sparkling water) on the fluffiness scale – and yes, the fuzziness is the crack.
> 
> Enjoy ^^

Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, rather enjoyed his room. He didn’t care much for its size nor for the countless, undoubtedly expensive, trinkets his mother had insisted upon decorating it with, but he was quite fond of the large windows granting him a most splendid view onto the gardens – and the spacious balcony accompanying it. Not too terribly long ago he had brought some potted plants up – mostly herbs to be used whenever Enola barged in, needing immediate medical attention, which, in his mind, happened far too frequently to be healthy – and some bird feeders, making it look all the more exquisite and paradisian. In winter he could watch the birds huddle around in their fluffed up plumage and in spring, summer and autumn he could watch the beauty of nature unfold.

It was quite a convenient balcony indeed. And yet, not once had he, Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, expected for none other than the infamous Enola Holmes to be of the same opinion – though for varying reasons.

Now, at the very start of this story it should be clarified that, during the duration of this story, the Marquess of Basilwether was residing in London – in the house in Picadilly, with its lavish mansions and wide, spotless streets having found its use for once – rather than in his family’s estate. It is important to know this, seeing how Basilwhether Hall, while not all too faraway from London, did require a journey of half a day – by train! – and Enola Holmes might be impulsive at times, but not even she would pack her bags in the middle of the night simply to arrive in the early hours of the morning.

And what a morning it was!

The city had been plagued with wind and rain for days, and whilst it had been the most unpleasant weather, it had chased the smog away, clearing the sky of any dark clouds and presenting a splendid, late autumn sky. The sun was just peaking out over the horizon, casting a sleepy spell across the streets, a few early birds already gifting their songs to the world and the golden hue that lay all across London, making it appear to be a dream.

A dream Tewkesbury was rudely awakened to by a loud banging on the door.

Which may also mark the starting point for all the event that was about to unfold. The loud noise, that is.

It took Tewkesbury entirely too long to realize that something about the banging seemed to be quite off – and no doubt Enola would tease him relentlessly about his lack of observational skills later that day. It may have taken him equally as long (though later on, he would fiercely deny it) to realize that, indeed, no one was banging on his door in the first place.

Or rather, they weren’t banging on the door one was supposed to _knock_ at, but instead banging against glass of his balcony’s windows.

It spoke volumes of Enola’s character that the one thing that Tewkesbury realized in no time at all was that only one person who would be banging on his balcony door in the earliest of morning would be Enola Holmes and it may speak volumes on Tewkesbury’s character that for a split second, after said realization, a smile banished his sleepy frown upon knowing this.

That smile didn't stay for too terribly long, though.

It was quite early, still.

Tewkesbury really wished he hadn’t been raised.

Tired eyes fluttered open and he squinted against the bright light, trying to make out more than just a shadow, hoping that it was not an assassin of some sort, seeing how that would be rather unfortunate. But no. That silhouette most certainly was Enola. One hand raised and the other one pushed flat against the glass, her nose almost pressed into it as well, she was standing that close to the door – and then the banging continued.

Tewksbury squinted some more.

She was wearing boy’s clothes, too.

Now, this wasn’t the first time Enola had climbed his balcony, by far. It had become quite the habit over the past few years and it had been during her first visit this way that she had expressed her gratitude for its existence.

“ _I find myself quite enjoying your company_ ”, she had told him back then:” _Even though you very much are, or perhaps_ because _you are, a nincompoop. However, with your mother insisting on chaperoning_ _every_ _time_ _she knows I’m here_ _, I find myself having trouble concentrating on my cases. Which does defeat the purpose of your advice, does it not?_ _Sneaking in simply is much more convenient._ _”_

Tewksbury wholeheartedly agreed with her sentiment. Both, regarding his balcony’s usefulness and regarding his mother’s – or any of the staff’s, really – insistence on chaperoning whenever Enola marched through the front door. While Tewkesbury cherished his mother’s guiding presence, her piercing eyes whenever Enola came to visit were making every situation uncomfortable at best and downright frightening at worst. Tewkesbury, too, wholeheartedly agreed that Enola and he worked well together – she may not have told him directly, but he knew from the grateful smiles meant just him or the ways her eyes would light up whenever he pointed out another angle to one of her cases which she had failed to notice herself – and he quite enjoyed her visits to his room. They discussed cases, politics, literature, anything really, and, as no one knew she was there, neither of them had to fear any scolding for “loose” behaviour. They could lean into each other’s spaces, hug, comfort each other without having to lose a single thought on propriety.

He had gotten away with holding her hand for an entire hour once and it had felt like heaven!

But, indeed, this wasn’t Enola’s first time climbing his balcony. It wasn’t the first time she showed up in men’s clothes either, usually citing that it was easier than climbing in skirts or that she had forgotten to wash her clothes once again.

And yet – something seemed different. It was too early for her to show up – she usually sneaked into his room via balcony only on late evenings, otherwise she found another way to get into the house undetected – and anyway, she seemed…

“Open this door at once, Tewkesbury! I know you're not asleep anymore!”

...more agitated than usual.

He should probably open that window, shouldn’t he?

Sleepily, Tewkesbury gets out of bed and trots over towards the window, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear his head.

“ _Enola_ _doesn’t_ _seem to be hurt_ ”, was the first thought entering his mind – though perhaps he may have simply missed something. His second thought was that parliament wasn’t in session right now, meaning there most likely weren’t any conspiracies going around involving him, in need of uncovering.

Which begged the question…

“Enola, it’s 5 am, what are you doing here?”

Perhaps, he sounds more sourly than he intended to, but, again, it was quite early and he has yet to drink his morning tea.

This was _awful._

Of course, Tewkesbury opened the door regardless, as it was most improper to keep a lady waiting outside – though, when his mother would scold him later that month for disappearing with leaving only the tiniest of notes, she would pointedly point out that Enola hardly qualified to be lady – by Enola’s own definition of that term, no less – and anyway, letting her sneak into his room in the middle of the night was most certainly more improper than keeping her out.

But his mother wasn’t present at that time – the reason why Enola ever climbed that balcony was to avoid that scenario specifically, after all – and regardless.

It was too early to think properly.

Yawning, Tewkesbury opens the door. Eyeing him – well, it was more scrutinizing than eyeing, if one were to be fastidious – Enola steps into the room, taking note of the state his room was it. Neat and tidy with the exception of Tewkesbury’s desk Enola knew for a fact any staff was forbidden from touching.

There were books on a nightstand.

Enola’s eyes narrowed.

“You should stop reading those books so late at night, Tewkey, it’s bad for your eyes”, are the first words leaving her mouth, before she abruptly turns around, in a notion that very much translates to “Anyway”.

“Now get dressed, please. We must be off to Brighton at once.”

What?

“Brighton?”

“Yes. And what are you still standing there, go on, get dressed and packing, will you?”

Enola presses a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping away from him, rummaging through his room.

Tewkesbury just stands rooted to his bedside for a while, stunned speechless, though smiling sillily – after all, this is what one might imagine – and most of his family most likely fears whenever Enola show up – to happen if one sneaks into someone else's room – or get their room sneaked in. But after a few seconds his smile fades already and he starts frowning. For as charming as Enola is, her words held no answer as to why exactly she sneaked into his room at 5 am in the morning.

She did wake him up.

The reminder sours his mood rather effectively and simultaneously dampens the blush that had spread on his face just seconds earlier.

“Enola, it is _5 am_ ”

Frowning some more, Tewkesbury turns around to face her, watching Enola pull clothes from his wardrobe.

“It is? Heaven’s, we’re running late!”, she responds before turning around to face him, smiling smugly:”Is it, perhaps, too early for you, Will-I-get-up-before-8-am Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether?”

Now, Tewkesbury has never told anyone, of course, but he rather enjoys it whenever Enola uses his name as a pun – but not when he is tired and she’s the reason for that.

He frowns some more.

“Of course it is!”, he protests soon after, crossing his arms in front of his chest, but feeling silly and letting them drop to his side mere seconds later:”This is no time to be awake at all!”

But Enola’s smug grin – _stupid_ smug grin – only widens and she turns away from him once more.

“Time’s but a concept invented by man himself – do not bow to its boundaries!”, she exclaims as she starts opening his drawers – in search of his suitcase, no doubt:”Not once has a bird awoken too early in the morning, looked at the sun, realized it is only 5am and has gone back to sleep – therefore, why would you?”

“That bird, Enola, would not be waking up at 5am in the first place, as it lacks any other bird friends that are willing to climb their balcony and then loudly bang on their windows...”, Tewkesbury grumbles in response, before taking another look out of said window.

“And anyway, it is too late for such philosophical exercises of mind...”

“You mean early. And _anyway_ , why aren’t you dressed already, we’ve got to leave for Wales in a hurry!”

Wait, _what?!_

“ _Wales_?! Didn’t you say Brighton?”

Irritated, Enola turns around.

“Both. We must head to Brighton first – I have some unfinished business there – and then we must be off to Wales. Now, please, do make hurry. We have not all morning.”

Tewkesbury blinks once in response and then a second time to drive the sleep from his eyes.

“Business in Brighton?”

“As I just said. You really are slow on the uptake this early in the morning, are you not?”

Tewkesbury decides to let Enola’s comment slide, for now – partially because she isn’t wrong – he is no early bird and lacks a good comeback for her teasing – instead focussing on getting his eyebrows to crease.

Business in Brighton. A case in Wales.

For some reason, Enola was currently standing in his room at 5 am.

“Enola, why are here?”

Enola frowns, putting a short-lived stop to folding his clothes and emptying the contents of some containers she had found onto his bed.

“To pick you up to head to Brighton. And then to Wales-”

Enola stopps her movement once more, putting the book she had just held in her hands aside, her expression disbelieving.

“Tewkey, are you really _that_ tired?”

She seems worried now and perhaps even a bit guilty, and for a second Tewkesbury is torn between using that and getting her to leave him alone – and perhaps to earn him a hugh or even another kiss to the cheek – and his pride.

His pride wins out.

“Well yes, but – that’s not what I meant!”, he stutters, before shaking his head, cursing his mind to take this long to get up:”But why do you need to pick _me_ up for that? And this early, too?”

The way Enola shrugs her shoulders one could think he had just asked the most trivial of questions.

“This early because we have quite the journey ahead of us and I need you because I wish to pose as a servant boy for a few days and need some posh lord to serve!”

And back to packing she is.

Now, this was by far not the first time they had pulled this ruse. Enola was a well-known detective after all and had quickly realized the strength of appearing unassuming to fish for information.

Of course, Tewkesbury had suggested, more than once, they might pose as a married couple instead, but Enola simply laughed it off every single time.

He didn’t miss the sweet blush that would spread across her cheek every time he brought it up, though.

Knowing all resistance is futile at this point, Tewkesbury lets out a sigh.

“Do you now?”, he teases, smiling somewhat fondly – he may dislike being awoken this early in the morning, but he can’t deny he is delighted every time Enola comes to him to ask for help.

“Yes. We do. Now, are you opposed to wearing a hat, by any chance? I’m afraid they might recognize you...”

Half an hour later and they sit in a train, headed to Brighton, Enola using her cover of being a servant to fuss over him – until she falls asleep and Tewkesbury gets to enjoy a truly splendid morning with Enola resting on his shoulder.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This story summed up in three sentences:
> 
> Enola: Get up, Tewksbury, we’ve got to go to Wales!  
> Tewksbury: Enola, it’s 5am.  
> Enola (very high-pitched and possibly drunk): I don’t CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE.
> 
> On second thought, maybe that should have been the entire story.
> 
> Anyhow. I'm just here to point out that the switch from past tense to present tense is intentional. I sounded better that way, in my opinion, and didn’t annoy me while proofreading, though I’d love to hear you opinion on the matter ^^


End file.
